Hero Stories

Race insights as experienced and etched on the minds of the bikers.

HERO TIMES: ALBAN, WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER FROM THE WCM TITLE IN VAL GARDENA?

ALBAN LAKATA: Perfect organisation, a wonderful natural setting, a taxing route and the great atmosphere in our team. I will always treasure these memories.

HT: WHAT IMPRESSIONS STUCK WITH YOU?

AL: I must confess I have somewhat fallen in love with Val Gardena. The Sella Massif and the leisurely Pass roads slowly grew on me. What is new is discovering the locals’ hospitality and the success I’ve come to experience time and again.

HERO TIMES:WHAT MEMORIES DO YOU HAVE ONE YEAR AFTER
YOUR WCS GOLD MEDAL AT THE HERO 2015 IN VAL GARDENA/
GRÖDEN?

GUNN-RITA DAHLE FLESJÅ: It will remain one of the clearest in
my mind for the rest of my career because the course was just
outstanding in so many ways, the natural landscape was stunning,
and my family and close friends were there with us to celebrate
a great performance and an unforgettable gold medal.
It was also so special because it was our 10th World Champion
title. We would love to come back next season.

I’m 28 and I work in a discount store part-time. My one and only passion for the last ten years has been
mountain biking. I’m intrigued by all races, even the 24 h ones.
Then I hear this simple word, ‘HERO’, and I’m overcome by awe… well, challenge accepted.
I ask for some days off at work and as soon as they are granted I start looking for a trainer. This race won’t
be a walk in the park. After some months with a coach, I’m left on my own, without anyone willing to train
me. I’ve reached rock bottom and I’m terrified of not making it.
One day, I drag the chair next to the mtb, collecting dust in a corner. I sit down, and I stare at it. I remembered
all those races and falls, all that effort put into it. Alone in my room, I started talking to my Scott, ‘Listen now,
let’s give this a shot. We’ve got the number bib now, I’ve already booked and we can’t just throw in the white
towel now!’
My alarm rings at 5 a.m. on the day of the HERO. Emotions burst forth during the roll call. How embarrassing! As
the tears start streaming down my face, I lower my head to hide it. Silly me.
We start, and I whisper to my Scott, ‘… we’re at an international event! When would we do that otherwise?’ The
crowd’s support pushes me to new heights. It’s exhilarating. Before a descent, I see a guy dealing with a burst
tyre. I stop to help him, because he, too, has the right to finish his HERO, but he’s riding a 29’, while mine is a 26’.
Saddened, I leave.
I climb, and race downhill, pushing like I’ve never done before. At the finishing line, I see my mum waiting for me,
embracing the Italian flag; we hug and cry a lot before a girl in local garb hands me a fresh beer. Once at the
hotel I lean down and whisper to my Scott, ‘Hey, we’re two heroes!’

Yes, yes, I hear you: the HERO can be summed up in countless
ways. Everyone has their own version, and it’s not like
one is better than the other. All those stories are simply beautiful
– not enough to land on the front cover of the broadsheets
though – and the myriad HEROes told here contain
a prism of powerful emotions. My HERO has more than one: 87 km
and 4,400 m elevation gain, and all I can think about aren’t the hours
spent preparing, the taxing training and transfers, but the faces of
those ‘heroes’, strangers I met during those 9 hours in the mountains.
If you could take a look inside my head right now, all you’d see would
be snapshots passing by: tired faces, happy smiles. What unites these
pictures is the human solidarity behind them. How could I ever forget
that one guy who stopped on the summit of the Dantercepies to help
me fix my chain. And he still is a stranger. Or that lovely lady atop the
Duron who offered me her water flask without a moment’s hesitation.
And then, one more, that unlucky ‘hero’ who fell on the downhill ride
from Monte Pana: the minutes spent by his side, keeping him company
while waiting for the paramedics to arrive and his thanks are the most
emotional memories from my HERO. Enough said.

150 kg: in the past, that was the sole, irrefutable sentence that stared back at me from the scales. Appeal
denied. My mirror reflected a shell of a person, sad, with no future prospects. Enough is enough. One
morning I woke up and said to myself, ‘I have to change… or else!’
Long walks didn’t yield the expected results. One day, however, I stumbled upon a bike. My first bike.
The irony of the moment, a mountain of a man trying to ride a mountain bike, isn’t lost on me, but I continued
biking down this road. And with every day, I fall a bit more in love with this new world.
Then fate deals me a surprising hand: one day, I find a site that talks about the legendary HERO. The hardest
mountain bike race in the world, the race par excellence, the most coveted one. I tap my finger on the screen
and declare, ‘I’ll be there on the day!’
I talk about it with some friends and they advise me not to push myself too far. I don’t know why, but I somehow
find that inner ‘strength’ I never knew I possessed: I train more and more, and the idea of becoming a HERO
guides me night and day.
Even the scales stagger in disbelief at the next accomplishment: I lose 80 kg in a year. Friends who coyly smiled
at me when I talked about my projects now encourage me. I’m ready to conquer my HERO.
Then comes the day: my dream starts at 8 a.m. and ends 9 hours and 50 minute later. Now ask me if I’m happy
– a few months ago my life was a bleak affair. Then, thanks to an article, everything changed. When I think
about the HERO, all I want to say is a simple ‘thank you’. It allowed me to change my life.
And now, here I am, for the third time in a row, and I smile at the idea of having rid myself of a heavy weight:
unhappiness.

Should I compete in this race? It’s up to you. Gabriele and Giulia are two smart kids, and they rush
online to start looking it up. At 12 and 15, they’re true internet whizzes. They stand dumbfounded in
front of the Reinhold Messner video on the HERO website: breathtaking views, the music swelling in
time with the story, bird-eye views, bikers, the race, its winners, and then the simple and clear words
of this man, his gaze, his warm tone. My kids and wife have fallen prey to its spell. ‘Yes, we’re going’
they declare.
The HERO is all anyone can talk about for the following months in our home. A race for me is never a solitary
decision: it’s always a family affair. It’s actually quite easy to convince them: the location is perfect, and we
decide to add a week’s holiday to the event. In the run-up to the event, the kids keep watching the video until
they learn it off by heart. Upon arriving in Val Gardena, a huge, black and red HERO banner welcomes us. Just
like in the video. We start taking pictures of it as soon as we see it: outside cafes, shops, and hotels. Virtually
everywhere. My kids’ excitement grows with each passing hour. The whole programme is amazing, and includes
HERO shopping and themed evenings. Bikers have come from all over the world and this makes me a
winner in the eyes of my children, let’s say a hero. The embrace below the race banner at the finishing line is
our last snapshot.
We go back to our normal lives: work, school, home. In winter, when we normally organise our holidays for the
next year, I suggest a beach holiday as, ‘we haven’t been to the sea in two years.’ They all jump on board, but
we can’t seem to find one free week between July and August. June is the only option. ‘And what about the HERO?’ Gabriele and Giulia give a clear answer: ‘We can’t give up the HERO, we’ll go to the beach another time.’

An emotional moment? Being there. A moment I’ll cherish forever? Finishing it. A moment in the
past? Becoming sick and having my immune system messed up. An everyday moment? Fighting
and coming out on top.
My HERO takes place every day, it’s a constant fight. Yet there’s something magical about the real
HERO, the one winding its way across the Dolomites. I started biking one year ago when I had little
or no notion of what a mountain bike actually was. I approached things slowly and signed up for the short route.
‘Better safe than sorry’, I thought to myself.
I’m not one who’s always sorry about himself, but this race had a special meaning to me. The virus I carry in my
body weakens me, saps the energy I once had, and robs me of my physical strength. The result? I have to train
a lot more than what I used to and than healthy people do.
Let’s be clear: I don’t want to come across as a whiny person, but the energy stored in my legs does run out
earlier. My body has to leech the energy from my immune system – which works at 40% capacity compared
to yours – when it’s done with burning the sugar and fatty deposits in my system. I don’t have any rivals in this
race, I only have one enemy in my life: HIV. I carry it inside me during every competition. It’s inevitable, really,
like one of those unwanted guests you can never really kick out.
But who cares. I don’t think too much about it. And so I crossed that finishing line with a smile, even better, I
actually laughed out loud. In your face, HIV!
And this year I’ll go for the longer route. Rather: we will go for the longer route. And my laughter will be even
louder, you can bet on it!!!!!

My HERO takes us back to 2014. I unadvisedly chose the long route and, not having trained enough,
I finished the race in 8 hours and a half. You know what happens next, right?
‘I’ll come back next year and I’ll do even better’. And back I come in 2015. This time I’ve prepared:
I religiously followed the Mapei charts published on the HERO website, and it shows: I finish the
race skimming one hour off my previous record. Satisfied? Maybe. Did I have fun? Not one bit.
Find out why in the following lines. Everything was going as planned: I cross Gardena and Campolongo in record
time. The Porta Vescovo climb is up next, one of the most feared stretches of the race. I make it to the top.
Pordoi faces the same defeat as its predecessor. I’m ready to tackle the downhill ride to Canazei when… there,
it happens. The front brake stops working. I start panicking, scared even. I try not to use the rear brake too
much but soon, it too, stops working. Full panic mode now. I’m at the foot of the Val Duron. I ask myself how I
will cope with the next downhill rides. ‘I’ll think of something, after all I’ve still got time to spare and it’s not like
I’ll give up now…’ I cross the next pass and slowly descend, experimenting with a braking system as old as time
itself: the good old ‘dragging my feet in the mud’. I’m overcome by utter disappointment. However, I don’t give
up just yet, ‘I just need to cross the finishing line now’. Countless bikers overtake me at reckless speeds and
tell me to watch out. ‘Yeah, thanks a lot for that’. I descend towards Selva, sat on the bike’s tube and dragging
my feet as makeshift brakes. I finally cross the finishing line and, well, yes, I’m actually happy about it. They say
I placed my head and arms on the handlebars and started crying. Maybe it’s true. Anger and disappointment, happiness and pain. A mix of confused feelings. But it’s not finished here. See you in 2016.

His name is Antonio Domizi, and at the Bikemotion in Terni we all think he’s a great guy because he’s
jolly, generous, and happy-go-lucky chap. Despite his countless misfortunes, he’s an incurable optimist
and as tenacious as one can be! Antonio, however, is also very careful about not purposely
jinxing anything. So you can imagine his reaction when one of the beautiful volunteers wished him
‘Break a leg’ upon handing him his race pack. That evening he was mocked by everyone but he didn’t
take it personally, always replying with a smile.
The next day at the race, it was the usual horsing about for us. As I’d signed up for the shorter route it was
easy for me seeing everyone else coming in. Or nearly everyone else: Antonio was nowhere to be seen. ‘That’s
strange. He should have been here by now.’
There he is! He’s exhausted, even more than he should be.
‘Why on earth is he so tired? Why isn’t he sitting down…?’ He didn’t have a saddle, that’s why! He biked the last
40 km (half of the race) without a saddle! Now that’s a true hero!
On our way back home by car, Antonio was the true hero of our stories, and it was during that trip that an
idea was born. Every autumn, to ring in the season and as an excuse to meet, we organise a social race with
the participation of numerous local bikers. It’s a short circuit, just a couple of km really, and the only rule is: no
saddles allowed! Yup, you got that right. You need to remove your saddle to participate and… pedal like our
Antonio did.

Back resting against the wall, my head is bowed between my knees. You can feel the discouragement
rising in waves off me. Eliminated at the Arabba gate for just a question of two minutes. Two. Blasted.
Minutes. I’m disappointed and somewhat humiliated. Eating my energy bar, I lift my gaze up to the
sky and see the Dolomites peeking out from the clouds. I get up and in that moment decide my HERO
would not finish here. I start biking again on the route even without my number bib. I look back and
see some bikers catching up, as well as a figure outlined against a sheet of rain which won’t seem to stop. ‘I’ll
give up only if that biker catches up to me.’ I give it my all for some minutes and then I feel him behind me… ‘Now
he’ll overtake me and make some funny remark… well, it was good while it lasted.’ The ‘stranger’ bikes up to me
and says, ‘Go on, we’ll make it! Dead or alive, but we’ll make it!’ From that moment onwards we ride side by side,
a ‘team member’ who appeared out of the blue and who accompanies me right to the summit. We finally learn
each other’s names. Stefano comes from Monza (I’ve never been there – it’s not exactly close to Bari). He then
explains to me what we’ve got to do ‘Only the Passo Sella climb to go and then down we rush to victory!’ He’s
got an infectious enthusiasm. Off we go. We spend an hour of pure suffering together: 4 km of burning agony!
And then down to Selva where Adriana, soaking wet, welcomes me with a loving embrace. Stefano and I go on
to become good friends and in 2015, two years after our meeting, we managed to cross the HERO finishing

I remember the when, 2012, but not the where. I was leafing through a mountain bike magazine and my eye
caught sight of this word: HERO. I’d never competed before, but at the end of the article I was raring to go.
The HERO would be my first. I roped my brother and cousin along, and they took the challenge one step
further. ‘If we actually make it, we’ll get tattooed together.’
They withdraw, I actually go ahead with it. No tattoo for us but we’ll give it another shot the following year.
On the day of the race, I open the window and grimace: the weather doesn’t look too good. I finish breakfast,
head up to my room and start organising my race kit. As I’m about to lock the door, my phone rings, ‘Simone,
you there. Nico has died.’
I return my racing bib and return to Bologna.
From that moment on, the HERO has become the day on which we celebrate our friend. I convince all of our
friends to take part in the race back in 2014. The jersey in Nico’s honour is a thing of beauty.
I promise him I’ll finish the race just for him. Looks like 2014 was not going to be that lucky year: halfway
through and I stop to wait for everyone else, so that we can cross the finishing line together… thing is, we were
knocked out for going over the allotted time.
2015 was our year: I just knew it. I pack his jersey with mine. As the race starts, I know I’m in good shape: my
legs pump away like there was no tomorrow. Nothing can stop me now: I need to keep my word. Slowly, push
after push, I realise I’m not alone. I don’t feel tired, and the clouds, after a brief shower, open up, letting the sunshine
stream in. I put on his jersey before the last downhill descent and whoosh down to the finishing line. I’m
overcome with emotion and the tears replace the sweat on my face. I cross the finishing line and realise we’ve
made it. I was never alone on that day: my friend Nico was with me during all of the HERO.

My knee seems to have a voice of its own as it whimsically decides whether to inflict pain upon me
or not. One month to go and I’ve got a huge wart on my foot. I have to give up. Step back. This isn’t
normally like me, and the fact saddens me. No! I’ve got to give it a try. I pierce a sole to ‘lodge’ my
wart and I only train once a week. Better than nothing. The night before the race I’m particularly
tense: the HERO isn’t only a mtb race, it’s the race! I’m depressed: my leg hurts, my foot aches. I
need to be alone. I walk around the village, when suddenly I see…
It stands still, proud in the middle of the tall grass on the hill. It spots me.
Its gaze meets mine. We observe each other for what seems like an eternity. Both still.
I’m not sure why but I start walking towards it. This can’t be a chance meeting.
I leave my mountain bike behind and slowly make my way towards it. Getting closer. I’m just ten metres away
when it suddenly dawns on me.
Dad is there with me. The hunter, respectful of all living creatures.
He’s alive and there with me. That roe deer, appearing out of thin air, is the living proof.
‘Off you go!’ Its leap forward, strong and agile, fills me with joy. It dashes away into the tall grass, disappearing
into the night.
I ‘m still there, on that hill, lost in thought for hours, listening to the wind.
There’s no excuses now: that animal helped me understand many things. Pain or not, I have to finish what I
came here to do.
I complete the HERO in 10 hours and something.
I suffered, I cried and I probably cursed. But here I am.
Me, myself, and that gaze I met on that hill.